A garden with a gate

The gate is closed, the bowl is empty, there is no seed on the ground, and the lanterns are lit. The gate swung shut on its own 2 days ago, once the bowl had stood empty a while and the rabbits had gone. Last touched by someone in the United Kingdom, on a phone, 2 days ago. The switches have been flipped 26 times.

The rabbits are the people here now; the birds are the machines passing over. The switches stay as the last person left them, and everyone present sees them flipped. Food and seed empty over a few hours. What stays is the wear: the path from the gate to the bowl, trodden a little deeper by every rabbit that crosses it, and the switches, worn by every hand.